The Demon Within
by G.I.U.L.I.O
Summary: The Engineer has been fighting for RED for a long time but when he dies one time too often, he abandons his former beliefs and turns to something unnatural. What will happen to his team when that happens?
1. Security Breach

"**Security warning!**"

These words resonated throughout the corridors via the intercom system integrated within when before the only sounds were a series of a metal tool banging on metal and beeping. Once the echo of the words faded, the metal noise stopped as well whilst the beeping continued on; an instant later, another more silent series of words echoed down the lone hallways:

"Aw hell..."

The source of this mild language was a disgruntled man in his early 40's wearing dark red overalls, a bright red shirt, a glove on his right hand, welding goggles over his eyes, and a hardhat over his head. He was wielding a monkey wrench, which he was using it to keep his machine – a deadly automatic sentry gun with twin barrels and a four-rocket launcher – maintained.

He quickly brought his index finger to his left ear which revealed a small radio apparatus and spoke with a distinct Texan accent:

"Fellas, what's comin' mah way?"

At first he received nothing but static from his minuscule communicator which worried the Texan a bit. But then he received his reply.

''Yo, hard-hat!'' a voice said, "I saw a frickin' Medic with a Solly comin' in while I was on the bridge. I think that they managed to get past our Demo!"

The Texan cursed under his breath: if the Medic and his patient managed to survive long enough to reach him with a charge built…

He spoke once more into his radio:

"Scout, can ya come tah help me out?"

"Can't man," the young voice replied, along with what seemed like shots, "I'm kinda busy showing this guy's who's boss!"

The older man heard a few more gun shots and a faint 'bonk' before the contact was interrupted.

He was getting worried, thus asking out, "Anybody there tah help me out? Soldier?"

No answer.

"Heavy?"

Nothing but static.

"Anybody?"

This time he got a muffled response.

"Hmmph hmmph?"

The man calmed a bit and regained his composure.

"Pyro, there's a medic and soldier coming in, I'll be needin' all the help that I can git. Can ya help me out?"

The Pyro responded with a recognizable 'uh-huh' and closed the transmission.

No more than a minute passed before the Texan could hear a series of hurried footsteps nearing him. With a mother-like instinct to keep his death-machine alive, he left to meet the incoming intruders, shotgun in hand.

He turned the corner to see a rocket launcher-wielding man clad in a blue but otherwise facsimile American WWII ranger uniform, his crazed grin the only clear facial feature not obstructed by his oversized helmet. Behind him was a tall and lean man in a lab coat, the blue insignias on his arms designated him as a medic. This Medic – a German – had an unaturally cruel and sadistic grin accentuated by his grey-blue eyes behind his spectacles, and his cannon-like weapon made him appear all the more intimidating. This weapon, the Über Cannon, was sparkling at its exhaust end and expelling a beam of blue aura towards the soldier in front of the medic.

This man had an Übercharge ready.

Upon the Texan's appearance, whatever pleasure or glee that the German doctor had suddenly transformed into confused surprise, probably not expecting his enemy to rush out towards he and his patient. The army-man's reaction was the complete opposite: he beamed at the prospect of removing another obstacle from his path with his rocket-based weapon and prepared to fire it.

The Texan had faster reflexes and shot first with his shotgun. The Soldier grunted in pain and shot his first rocket. It flew past the man in red by no more than an inch and exploded further down the corridor. The shotgun toting Texan put out two more buck shots at the soldier before the German decided to take matters into his own hands and pulled the lever of his Über Cannon.

Both men in blue turned suddenly into a bright metallic blue, their eyes turning to a ghostly yellow colour; they were now invulnerable to any of the Texan's firearms, including his automated sentry gun. Albeit he knew that that this invulnerability would last a mere ten seconds, it would be more than enough to kill him and destroy his sentry nest.

The Medic spoke out to his comrade in a definite accent while gesturing:

"Go to ze Intelligence Room, vee can deal with him later!"

His companion nodded, and treaded as fast he could manage towards the room where the sentry gun and the valuable intelligence which the two men wanted to steal.

The Texan was panicking, shooting more slugs into his enemies in a desperate attempt to distract them long enough to waste their charge to little avail. If he couldn't stop their charge, there would be nothing left to stop them from taking his intelligence. But he realized that he couldn't do anything without support.

Suddenly, before the Soldier could enter the fabled Intelligence Room, he was suddenly blasted away by a powerful gust of air. The Texan's wish for assistance had been granted by the form of a short man in a red asbestos suit and black gas mask wielding a home-made flamethrower: the Pyro had arrived.

The blue Soldier was taken completely by surprise by the Pyro's arrival and when he attempted to react to this new threat, his rockets flew all over, missing his intended targets.

The Pyro kept blowing the invulnerable Soldier away so as to keep both his aim off and waste the enemy Medic's precious invulnerability. Hating being helpless, the Soldier threw away his rocket launcher, opting for a shotgun and began chasing the Pyro while shooting at him. The Pyro retaliated by shooting back with his own shotgun while backpedalling away from the Intelligence Room.

The Soldier pursued the Pyro in rage, leaving his Medic behind.

"_Herr_ Soldier!" the Medic yelled in anger, "ignore ze pyro and help me destroy ze sentry nest here!"

"Stuff it, ya goddamn Nazi!" his companion replied, still following the bait that the Pyro laid, "this maggot has tried to make a fool of me and he will **pay!**"

The Medic stammered, wasting his last few seconds of his charge, and realizing negotiation with his ally would be both fruitless and time-consuming; he dropped his Über Cannon, losing his faltering invulnerability and took out a bone saw, intent on disposing of the Texan.

The Texan, however, still had his shotgun, and shot two of his remaining slugs into the German, killing him before he could reach striking distance. Dropping his shotgun and taking out his monkey wrench, he turned to help his beleaguered ally.

However, when he turned around the corner, he saw his friend's corpse on the floor, his mask adorned with deep, bloody slashes, with the Soldier standing upon him. The Soldier was injured himself, but his adrenaline rush allowed for him to yell out a war cry and bang on his helmet with a trench tool – the weapon that had finished off the Pyro. He turned back to the Pyro and jeered.

"You cannot kill me, **I do not have time to bleed!**"

And with that, a mighty crack was heard: a wrench connected into the back of the Soldier's helmet, caving his skull, killing him outright.

The Texan looked down upon his kill and smiled.

"Looks like y'all have plenty o' time now…"

He sobered when his gaze fell on his fallen friend. He took hold of his hardhat and put it on his chest in respect.

"Thanks partner."

His condolences were abruptly turned into a very audible statement:

"Spah's sappin' mah sentry!"

He ran back to the Intelligence Room, grabbing his shotgun on the way. He was met with the sight of his powerless machines emitting sparks due to a small mechanical device clamped unto them. There was also someone in the room: the Pyro, looking around anxiously, shotgun at the ready.

He turned to his friend and frantically spoke in a muffled voice, mostly saying that there was a spy around.

Instead of going to his buildings to repair them, the Texan aimed his shotgun at the Pyro.

"Nice try spah," he said and pulled the trigger.

The shot at first didn't seem to have done anything, but before the second shot rang out, the Pyro suddenly turned into a tall and lean masked man with a blue pinstripe suit which had a noticeable patch of blood on his suit.

The Spy dodged the following shot and responded with two quick shots from his custom revolver. The Texan winced in pain, but maintained his focus and shot once more, finishing off the injured Spy. He sneered, and spat some blood he had in his mouth, realizing that his buildings were now destroyed. He was visibly annoyed, but at least the intelligence was safe and he assumed that he had ample time to set up a new nest.

His train of thought was interrupted when a steel baseball bat connected with his head, breaking his neck, killing him. The Texan assumed incorrectly, and the last thing he heard were the faint words:

"How's dat feel, wimp?"

The Texan suddenly felt weightless, completely free to move anywhere where his heart desired, as well as observe, and what he saw made him feel helpless: it was the Intelligence Room, with three figures; the corpse of the Spy he had killed, his own cadaver with his head twisted in an unnatural fashion, and a young, thin man in his early 20's dressed in a blue track shirt and jogging trousers and shoes. Wearing a cap and headset, the young man smiled as he calmly walked towards a desk with a large red briefcase labeled INTELLIGENCE, playing with a slightly dented and bloodied steel baseball bat.

The Texan wanted to warn someone, to shout out that he had just died and that an intruder was stealing his team's intelligence, but his voice was absent thus none was the wiser of this crime.

The young man grabbed the intelligence briefcase and strapped it on his back as he made his way out of the room. He stopped by the Texan's body, then looked towards the dead blue Spy, and back to his body, his face twisted in anger and revulsion. He held his bat and swung hard unto the dead Texan, bashing the head open, in frustration. "Dat's for Doc," the Texan heard him say. He struck again the exposed head, some blood gushing out. "Dat's for Solly," he continued, much to the Texan's disgust, to one final swing which flattened the skull; brain matter spurted out of any crack or opening in what remained of the Texan's former head. "And **dat**," the man yelled in anger, "is for our Spy!" and spat unto the cadaver as a final insult before taking off.

The Texan just stared at his remains in complete shock. He had experienced death before, and was, in many ways, used to it by then. He knew that his enemies could be very brutal in the manner in which they killed him, yet he had never seen his enemies gore his already-dead self in such a manner.

He remained in the room watching when he felt as if he was being instantaneously pulled into a new room, regaining his bodily senses, and mostly weight. The Texan found himself back to a very familiar locker room, shotgun in hand, as healthy as he could be, as if he had never been shot, stabbed, or killed before. Normally he would be running outside the room to join his teammates in battle, but he was still shaken from the horrific scene he had witnessed, and just stood in place, the image of his crushed skull spilling his brain matter reoccurring in his mind.

Soon afterward, the intercom came to life.

"**You've failed!**"


	2. Accusations and Rising Tensions

There were scorch marks and blood splatters all around a large barn-like red room, the stark reminders of an earlier intense firefight or that of a mass execution. Not too long before there were yells and screams of pain and death when men in blue began killing off those helpless to do anything as a means to add insult to the injury that they had suffered. The awkward silence filled the room for an extended period of time, and was finally broken by a young man.

"Coast's clear fellas," the Boston accented man said.

Suddenly the deserted room sprang to life as a grand total of nine men, all dressed in red, came out of various hiding spots and congregated to the center of the room. Physically, all of these men were fine, one or two had some bullet wounds that could be tended to, but psychologically they were devastated: they had just suffered a defeat, thus allowing their enemies to do as they wished to them in a process known as 'humiliation'.

"A defeat!" a military soldier similar to the blue soldier of earlier in his early 40's exclaimed, "I cannot believe that we let those maggots defeat us!"

"Those bladdy pikers caught us with that charge."

This man, a rugged looking Australian in his prime, had a outdoor vest over his red shirt, a hat, and aviator sunglasses. He was bleeding slightly from an injury on his right arm, his left hand flowing with the blood in an attempt to stem the blood loss.

The man next to him, a Scottish of African descent, patted him on the back to try to console his comrade. "Twas me fault lads. Oi got distracted by their Pyro when oi was watching me sticky trap." The Scotsman was wearing a large near-bullet-proof vest with various grenades attached to it. A striking feature of this demolitions expert was a black eye patch over his left eye, his personal reminder of the dangers of mishandling explosives. "Oi shouldn't have let 'im git to me."

Abruptly cutting off anyone who wanted to console the Demoman, the Soldier made his frustration clear by hitting the wooden wall hard and shouting out as loudly as he could. His friends were all silenced by his outburst, and no-one attempted to make any noise louder than the Soldier's heavy breathing. He craned his head slowly towards the Demoman, his angered eyes visible.

The Scotsman swallowed hard and barced himself for the inevitable rant.

"**You!**" the Soldier exclaimed, jabbing his finger at the Demoman as if it were a sharp knife, "you let them get through! How could you not stop those BLU scums?"

The Sniper came to the Demo's assistance as he interjected that the Demoman wasn't the one to blame. The Frenchman in the group, who appeared much like the BLU spy from before but in a red suit and mask, spoke up.

"I agree, the intelligence was not under the Demoman's custody," he stated in a puff of smoke from his cigarette, "in fact, if I recall correctly, our fellow labourer was guarding it."

All eyes turned on the Texan. He had not been paying attention to the conversation at hand and was aimlessly staring at nothing in particular when he snapped back to reality. "Wut?" he asked.

The Soldier turned to him, his teeth gritting in anger. "**You cowardin' Canadian!**" he accused, completely forgetting about the Demoman, "why didn't your precious toys stop that hippie and kraut?"

Caught unawares from his deep thought, the Texan faltered before blurting out, "but I did kill 'em! If it wasn't for Py's help, I woulda not been able tah stop 'em."

Many looked to the Pyro, who nodded, speaking quickly in his mubmling voice about how he sacrificed himself to keep the Soldier distracted and leave the enemy Medic vulnerable. Few of his friends understood the jist of what he had said, but everyone now knew that the Texan was speaking the truth.

"Then how did that city boy over at BLU steal our intelligence?" the Soldier retorted.

"Their spah sapped mah nest and while I was killin' 'im, that Scout came in an' killed me!" the Texan cried out, his voice wavering unusually, "an' seein' nobody else was there to help me an' Py, we got robbed!"

He seemed on the verge of crying. No-one among the group had ever seen the soft and kind-hearted man in this state. If anyone would come close to a nervous breakdown, the Texan would probably be the least likely out of the nine men. Many exchanged worried looks, although the Spy, Soldier and Scout were not buying it.

"Wassa matter Engy, you gonna start cryin' on us?" the loud-mouthed Bostonian asked with a smug look.

Several heads snapped towards the Scout in response for the uncalled comment. It was true that the young man was hot air thus caring little for his friends. This time though, he was dangling close at the limit of his teammate's tolerance. However, the Spy added fuel to the fire:

"It seems highly strange, to me at least, that our labourer failed to chase the enemy courier once he respawned."

The Engineer was taken aback by the Spy's uncanny observation and hesitated to respond appropriately, but instead managed to do nothing more than stammer.

"Ya frickin' wuss!" the Scout called out, thrusting his own finger in the same fashion of the Soldier, "not only did ya let that BLU moron take the intel, but ya also let 'im get away! It's your fault we lost!"

"Now_ herr _Scout-" the German Medic began, but was cut off by the Soldier, who shoved the Engineer to the wall, grabbing his shirt by the collar and lifted him up a foot or so. The Medic moved to intervene, but the Sniper held him back, shaking his head.

Sweating, confused and afraid, the Engineer tried to avoid direct eye contact with the Soldier's own piercing stare. In an unaturally low and threatining voice for the Soldier he whispered to the Engineer, charging every word with as much malice as he could.

"I gave you a simple job, Engy: defend the intel. But neither you nor your fancy machines could handle it. You failed your team and you will be punished for that. Now I'm a reasonable man Engy, so you will _only_ be deprived of your food rations for the rest of the week. Four days. Do I make myself clear?"

The Engineer stared back as if he couldn't believe the words he had just heard.

"Bu-but if we're a team, y'all need to help me to do mah duties an'-"

The Engineer was punched squarely in the gut by the Soldier, allowing the Texan drop to the floor and curl into fetal position. Squatting by the ill-treated man, the Soldier yelled into his ear, "We _are_ a team, **toymaker!** Everyone has their own task, and they get it done for the good of the team! I will _not_ see you eat anything for the next four days, or so help me God, I will make sure that_ you_ will **never respawn again!**"

The remaining men kept their distance from the flinching Engineer as if they would be treated the same if they got any closer. Slowly, one by one, they left the room until only the Medic, Sniper and Engineer were left. The Medic approached the laid up Texan and asked "are you able to stand up?" to which the Engineer nodded and did so albeit shakily.

Prodding the Engineer's chest with his finger and observing his patient's reaction, he stated "zat madman seems to have caused quite zee internal hemorrhaging. You'd better come vith me to zee infirmary." Turning towards the Sniper and his bleeding arm he added "und you as well _herr_ Sniper."

"Dun worry about me Doc," the Aussie replied, "I've had worse, an' Truckie seem's like he needs the rest more than me."

The Medic waved off the Sniper and insisted, "_nein_, zat bullet wound needs to be treated properly und quickly to prevent any infections. You're coming along as well."

And with that he led both men away to get treated, and while on the way to the infirmary he was growing more concerned at the Engineer's abnormal silence. _It couldn't be the internal bleeding_, he thought to himself, and got the nagging suspicion that his patient's pain wasn't necessarily limited to the physical injuries but mental as well. The Engineer's condition was much worse than the doctor had originally believed upon his first diagnosis.

And he was worried it would only get worse.


	3. A Precarious Analysis

The base's infirmary ward was easily the tidiest and cleanest room in the base and it was one of the few that were spared from the destructive battles that occurred on a regular basis. Starkly white with few variations of the colour, the ward was comprised of four beds, two examination tables, a work desk with various neat paper stacks, some file and medical cabinets, as well as a closet for extra equipment. Upon one of the examining tables was the Sniper, sitting patiently still holding his injured arm waiting for the Medic to finish treating the Engineer on the other examining table.

Seeing as the internal bleeding would be time-wasting to treat in the traditional manner via surgery and still a priority condition, the Medic decided to cure his Texan patient with Medigun: a slightly altered Über Cannon meant to heal any form of ailment that the human body could have. It was an expensive piece of equipment and thus the Medic had used it sparingly in the past only for his teammates in critical condition. True; the Engineer wasn't about to die, but the bleeding could develop into something more complicated to treat even if it wasn't affecting any vital organs.

The red healing aura expelled by the Medigun engulfed the Engineer, who's bare chest had a purplish-blue colour around the stomach area, was visually relieving him from the pain as the blotch on his chest shrank and his muscles seemed to relax. However, it could be seen that despite this the Engineer was still shaken from his earlier confrontation with the war-maddened Soldier.

Once the blotch had completely vanished, the Medic turned off the Medigun and told the Engineer that he would get back to him soon. The Texan acknowledged him with a grunt while staring at nothing in particular. The doctor turned to the Sniper's injured arm; it was bloodied, but no longer bleeding. Grabbing some alcohol and cotton from the medical cabinets, he began to disinfect the wound and bandaged it up.

"Lie down und sleep in one of thoze beds, _herr_ Sniper," he told him, "I'll vake you in a few hours."

"Thanks doc," the Aussie replied and promptly did get in bed and soon dozed off.

Once the Medic was sure that the Sniper was soundly asleep, he told the Engineer to dress himself and sit by the desk while he filled in some paperwork. After stacking away the papers, he confronted the Engineer, still seemingly detached from reality.

"Feeling better?" the Medic asked. The Engineer gave a small nod.

"_Nein_," the doctor retorted, shaking his head, "you are not vell. Although I have no degree in psychology, I can tell somezing is bothering you. Do you vant to talk about it?"

The unfocused gaze of the Engineer slowly met the Medic's own. In a quiet and slow whisper, he asked, "doc, do ya believe in God?"

The German was somewhat surprised at this query but kept his face blank and replied, "vell...I can't say no, but-"

"'Cause I'mma startin' tah believe there ain't one."

He blinked at his patient's remark. While the Medic wasn't particularly religious (or at least, not as religious as the Engineer) he felt somewhat disturbed by the sudden statement. Nevertheless, he went on.

"Vhy would you say zat?"

With a deep breath the Engineer, teary-eyed, explained:

"Think about it doc: all o' them plagues, floods an' wars, God wouldn't have 'em kill his own believers. But they did go on an' did it. Why? Why would millions of innocents die in our second world war? An' dun tell me that t'was to punish humanity for its sins, 'cause ya know it's bullshit."

The Medic was completely silent and somber. He was fighting to keep a straight face, especially considering the incredibly delicate subject that the Engineer implied. The German was not at all fond of the actions and atrocities that his people had commited during that recent period. He did enjoy and seeked pleasure in sadistic manners but even he limited it to getting to see his foes crushed by the patients he would be assisting in battle...and the occasional bonesaw to the face of an enemy Spy.

"I thought maybe there was sum sort of plan, I was still that gullible, still hopin' for it that it wasn't jus' us doin' everythin'. But then I join this here war...an' then I learned that we can even cheat death. At first I thought that respawn was nifty gimmick tah keep us from losing. But as ya already know, it doesn't. What's tha point to fight an' to kill if both we an' our enemy keep comin' back to do that again? It's an endless an' idiotic cycle, only there to keep sum corporate shmucks an investors happy. If God existed, this wouln' be happenin' an' it shouldn't."

The Medic was getting the sensation of déjà vu; there had been previous Engineers who had worked for the RED team and fought along the other members, and have all begun to fall into depression in the same fashion and reason that the current Texan had. He and the Russian Heavy were the only two members who had been in the war for the longest. All of the other members either commited suicide, become ravingly mad, or otherwise unfit for service. The Medic was in charge of making sure that both the mental and physical states of all of the team members were under check, and if they weren't, fix it. If he couldn't fix it, he would contact headquarters and ask for a replacement whom he swore that was a clone of the previous member although he knew that the technology did not exist. But that was besides the matter in hand.

Out of all of the classes the Engineers were the ones whom the doctor had to replace the most. Being easily the most intelligent among the team they would immediately begin to question their purpose in the war between RED and BLU. Eventually they either killed themselves, gone insane and try to kill everyone in the team, or go into depression as they often did.

This Engineer was showing the classical signs of the latter. The norm was to immediately contact HQ and describe the ailment of whichever teammate who would be then either to be placed at once in solitary or put down in the worst cases. They would negotiate a temporary truce with BLU long enough to allow the replacement to arrive and dispose of the old member properly. This, as far as the Medic was concerned, was the same with the BLU team.

He would follow this procedure often times, although he usually took time to try to get those marked for replacement out of their depression and take precise note of why they went down that route. There were some different reasons why Engineers became stressed, but the most prevelant ones were two: their 'behind the scenes' work such as dispensers and teleporters was mostly under appreciated and the sensation that no matter what they did, they would die and so too would their buildings be destroyed. The Medic could relate somewhat to feeling unappreciated, especially when his teammates yelled for a medic when they didn't need him as much as whoever he was healing. He would often get berated by his healthy temmates for sense of healing priority. The doctor believed that he has have nerves of steel considering how much his teammates would criticized his sense of healing priority yet not caring the least bit.

He could also understand the sense of dying despite all efforts. The Medic's role in battle placed him as a priority target, thus he died often if his comrades failed to keep him alive or if he was caught alone in the open.

What he failed to understand was why Engineers valued their machines so much. Granted, anything he would build he would feel protective of it, his Über Cannon was his pride and joy, but even he wouldn't go insane if it got destroyed. Or at least he thought so.

"_Herr_ Engineer," the Medic began, breaking the silence and adjusting his spectacles, "I know vat you are going through, und I realize how attached you are to your creations, but you must understand zat-"

"**But it has _nothin'_ to do with mah machines!**" the Engineer shouted out, beating his gloved fist unto the desk in a burst of frustration, startling the Medic. "This has _never _been about my machines! I love 'em, but not so much tah seem like I git mad cow's disease everytime they are blown tah bits! I jus' ain't doin' it right."

"_Was war das_?" the Medic slipped in surprise.

"Imma not doin' mah work correctly! Me and...hell, tha entire **_fuckin'_ world**, has been misled by sum _fuckin'_ book full o' shit that has been written over centuries an' by thousands of people an' still believed everythin' it said like a bunch o' idiots! The commies over at Moscow got it right, there ain't no point in worshiping in God 'cause he _doesn't fuckin' exist!_"

The Engineer had pushed his chair backwards whilst he had erupted emotionally and he was left standing tall over the still-seated Medic, panting loudly. The Medic stared back aghast at the Texan standing before him, unwilling to say anything in fear that it would only worsen the Southerner's attitude. He decided to allow the Engineer's rage run its course before he took action.

"Tha 'Word of God' has made me weak! An' it has been exactly that has been keepin' me to kill them damn BLU's! I'm a killer of men doc. An' I need tah get back to it, so, am I all good to go?"

The Medic was now convinced: his previous presumption that the Engineer was suffering from depression was grossly mistaken. The Texan was becoming mad. Unfortunately there was no manner in reasoning with madness, thus he decided to take the matter into his own hands.

"_Nein_, you need to rest as vell," he lied, "seeing your condition however, I'll need to give you ein sedative to help you rest."

Keeping a straight face so as to not give himself away, the Medic hoped that the Engineer's state of mind would keep him from seeing through the Medic's plan. The Engineer would be more than capable to do so normally, but this time, much to the doctor's relief, he didn't catch on and nodded, somewhat calmed down.

Minutes later, with the Engineer lying down on a bed knocked out, the Medic clicked on a intercom speaker on his desk and spoke into it: "_Herr_ Heavy, I need you to come to zee infirmary." Within a minute a knock came from the infirmary doors.

"_Kommen Sie darin heran_."

In came in a giant of a man: wearing a vest with a belt of large calibre rounds, the Russian Heavy had the overall appearance of a sleeping bear, seemingly harmless and dim but ready to pounce on anyone or anything with massive strength.

"Vat do you want doktor?" he asked in a humble tone.

"Zee Engineer is going through one of his phases again. He needs some time in solitary, so vould you so kindly carry him there _herr_ Heavy?"

The Russian frowned. "Engineer is having many break-downs. Does doktor think that Engineer vill ever get better?" he asked with visible worry on his face.

He had been skillfuly tricked by the Medic to think that all of the Engineers had been the same one all along disguising the temporary absence of one as a period of stress that only one had every once in a while.

Putting on a compassionate smile, he reassured his friend: "Do not worry _herr_ Heavy; I promise zat I'll make him feel better."

The Heavy nodded, but wasn't convinced. "I know I am not doktor, but I have feeling that Engineer is getting worse. Maybe I am wrong, but feeling is strong and bad."

With that, he picked up the Engineer with minimal effort and carried him off. Left alone with the sleeping Sniper, the Medic let out a long exhasperated sigh. This was one of the cons of the job, and he really didn't enjoy lying to any of his friends. But his orders were clear, and he followed them without fuss. He picked up his pen and grabbed a form entitled _RED REPLACEMENT QUERY_ and began writing.

This paper took longer to fill than any other form before.


	4. Awakening

**_Author's warning: this passage contains scenes of an explicit nature. Reader's discretion is advised._**

* * *

It was nearing dinner time when the Medic was approaching solitary carrying a syringe with poison. With the request for a new recruit sent, he had to now dispose of the Engineer. He's gone through this procedure quite a few times and was now able to exactly determine how much poison he would need to properly kill a grown man and how much sedative to knock said man long enough to be able to safely poison him. The doctor did this in secret, usually under the excuse of rearranging some of his supplies back at the infirmary or in his own room to keep the others clueless of his actions.

Solitary was deep inside the base, far too deep for any BLU's – including the more crafty Spies – to find. In fact, the atmosphere of this area probably helped keep out anyone coming in: it was dark and murky, partially disguising the state of disrepair that it was in. Due to this, whenever the Medic was inside he felt unsettled. RED had promised to keep the base in proper conditions, although the Medic suspected that they intended to keep only the battlefield and main areas maintained, as the maintenance levels showed.

Then he reached a solitary metal door with a sign on top saying SOLITARY. The door was full of rust which vaguely reminded the Medic of blood splatters. It was always kept locked and the only key to open it was in the custody of the Medic, deemed the most responsible. Solitary was probably the darkest room in the entire base, with the only light coming from underneath the door. It was also the smallest; only a few square feet. There was no bed, no sink and no toilet; the only thing allowed inside was some toilet paper. Anyone unfortunate to be locked inside for even a few days would likely become insane or simply commit suicide to get the pain to stop.

The Medic was about to unlock the door when he caught a glimpse of some light emanating from underneath the door. It was very faint, although he could gather where it was coming from: inside the room.

The doctor hesitated. There was no light source inside, thus nothing should've been creating that light. _But then what is it? _he wondered, _where is that light coming from?_

He was becoming unnerved, gathering an ill feeling about entering inside. The room had seen its share of deaths, most through a calm dosage of poison. The others...were not so peaceful. The German wasn't superstitious and didn't believe that there were any restless spirits of previous men who were executed inside. Yet something about the room always seemed unnatural to him. He could swear that any time he was inside, he could feel the sadness and desperation of those forced inside.

Then the Medic noticed that the red light was gone. All seemed normal again. _Probably imagined it_, he assured himself. He proceeded to unlock the door and open it. The door's metal hinges creaked in protest, and the room and the man inside were now in view.

The Engineer was lying on his side showing his back to the Medic, asleep. The Medic felt somewhat relieved: at least this was going to be quick and painless, for both him and the Engineer. He wanted to get this over with so he could rejoin the others and eat the Pyro's excellent cuisine.

He carefully walked toward the sleeping Texan and kneeled down, syringe in hand. The Medic gently picked the man's arm and turned it so that he could give a clean shot. He knew that the poison didn't need to be injected directly into the bloodstream, but seeing that it acted slowly in that manner, he looked for a visible vein. He found it, and took out the cork out of the needle of the syringe and prepared to inject.

Suddenly the Medic received an elbow to the face, knocking him back and dropping the syringe. Stunned, he saw the Engineer scrambling to get on his feet, fully awake. Could he have made a mistake with the dose of sedative? As the Medic recalled, the dose he gave should have been enough to keep the man knocked out for a few more hours.

Recovering from the blow, the Medic struggled to get back up and looked at the Engineer. What he glimpsed made him gasp in shock.

The Southerner had somehow slashed his cheeks so as to make his mouth appear wider than what it really was. Blood that had gushed out from the cut had since dried up but didn't detract from the man's deplorable appearance. It made the Medic experience a feeling that he had long since forgotten: outright terror.

The battle-hardened doctor had had experienced fear occasionally in battle, but he always managed to maintain his composure and not let panic take a grip over him. This, this was something completely different. His muscles froze up from sheer fright, but they shivered from the same fear.

"_Mein Gott!_" the man yelled, panic spreading like wildfire in his mind.

The Engineer, giving a demonic smile with his perverted mouth, lunged at the Medic, pinning him to the floor. The Medic fought to keep the sick man off of him, but his muscles refused to do anything more than keep the Engineer from grabbing at his face.

Desperate, the Medic called out in hopes someone could hear. "_Helfen Sie mir!_ Help!"

The Engineer gave out a cruel laugh and, keeping the doctor pinned, made for the dropped syringe. What was left of the Medic's heart dropped when he saw the Engineer readying himself to thrust the needle into the man's face.

"'S time fer yer shot doc..." he said in the most menacing tone, chuckling darkly as he jabbed the poison-filled needle into the doctor's eye.

The pain was nothing alike what he experienced in battle. The pierced eye went completely blind, its gelatinous insides spurting out. The Medic screamed his loudest in pain, his own shriek another horrifying assault to his already overhwelmed senses. The Texan retracted the sharp tool and stabbed at the other eye.

Another spine-chilling scream of pain. The German was now blind, bleeding, and in intense pain. He couldn't get the madman off and flailed his arms in attempt to prevent him to do anything else to his already crippled self.

The Engineer prepared for one final stab when he quietly said in the midst of the screams, "g'night," and stabbed the doctor on his forehead continuously for a minute.

* * *

_The room had fallen to a heavy silence, with the only sounds the faded echoes of the earlier yells and my own panting. Only after a few moments did I stand up and observe my work._

_The Medic lied dead, both eyes completely destroyed and his forehead completely covered in blood whilst the head rested in the pool of its own blood. I then glanced at the blood soaked needle in hand and smiled. This would do far better than my nails. So, with the newly-found strenght given to me as a reward I began to slice up the still-warm flesh to prepare it._

_For the master._


	5. Unsettling Disturbances

_Plonk, plonk, plonk._

The BLU Scout mindlessly played with his baseball, tossing it towards the wall at this base's battlements. He was accompanied by his team's Sniper, slouched over a folding chair, sipping from his coffee mug. The rugged Australian appeared at ease, but with his rifle propped next to him and his vigilant watch over the enemy base proved otherwise. The Scout, on the other hand, was bored stiff.

"See anythin' ovah there Snipes?" he asked his companion.

The Sniper said nothing at first, prefering to sip some of his coffee as a reply, his gaze ever watchful. "Nothin' mate," he finally said.

The Scout let out a groan. "Man, why da hell is RED taking so long from recovahrin' an' gettin' back to foightin'?"

"Just be patient mate."

HQ had agreed to a truce that RED had called for and had ordered the team to not engage the enemy under any circumstances unless otherwise ordered. While these sort of truces weren't rare, they usually did not last longer than a few days. This truce had gone on for nearly two weeks. The team's Soldier had continuously argued for attacking the REDs while they were unaware, completely disregarding orders. Some of the others like the Heavy and Scout agreed with the Soldier though the others were against it, seeing as they found the truce as a well deserved rest. The Sniper was indifferent as to how long the truce would go on (in fact he found that the wait for his target challenging and made the kill all the more satisfying) yet he too was beginning to wonder what was going on over at RED base.

In previous ceasefires there was always some movement going on that he could see, perhaps his enemy counterpart resting by the battlements or the RED Soldier doing his early morning drills. During these two weeks there were no signs of life over at RED base, as if the enemy team had evacuated the base while the Sniper and the others were unaware. He could have sworn he'd heard the sounds of gunfire emenating from the base...but with no other signs to tell, it held as just an echo of the breeze.

It was late in the evening, and the sounds of the Scout's baseball hitting the wall and the Sniper's occasional sip from his mug broke the night's silence.

Then it was further broken by sounds coming from the wooden bridge: creaking wood and what sounded like exhausted breathing.

Within a moment the Sniper was poised with his rifle, aiming at the bridge. The Scout snapped to attention. "Whadd'ya see Snipes?"

"Someone's comin'," the Sniper whispered, "take yer pistol out and check him out. If he's RED, don't shoot him immediately."

The Scout was about to protest about not being allowed to shoot first and ask questions later, but pulling out his sidearm, he dropped down from the battlements and approached the bridge. His pistol aimed, he saw the intruder. At first the Scout wasn't able to identify him, but he could see that the man was supporting himself on the bridge's ledge, moving slowly towards the BLU side of the bridge.

"Awright pallie," the Scout said in a clear voice, "who goes there?"

The figure stopped, and seemed to be surprised to suddenly hear the voice as he looked around in confusion, trying to identify the source of it. In a small whimper, the man spoke up.

"L-lad? Is that ye?"

The Scout recognized the Scottish accent, though he realized that it wasn't one of his teammates. Keeping his weapon aimed the young man called out, "come on out ya drunken cyclops."

The RED Demoman shuddered, suddenly as if he was afraid of moving any closer. "Just tell me lad, i-is he dead?"

"What?" the Bostonian responded, confused at the Scotsman's query. "Who's supposed ta be dead?"

The Demoman froze. "Ya dun mean...he's still...?"

With that, the Scotsman started crying out as loud as he could, dropping to the boards of the bridge. The Scout stepped back in surprise, unsure as to what to do. He had never seen the enemy Demoman suddenly break down like that in battle before, and he was still in the dark with the cyclops' question. Unable of coming up with anything better, the Scout yelled back to the Sniper to get the doctor.

That night would no longer be silent.

* * *

The German Medic was in his infirmary, deep in thought, when the door slammed open. His team's Sniper rushed in, a serious look on his face.

"Doc, ya need to come outside, there's someone who seems hurt!" he let out, short of breath.

The Medic blinked, still recovering from the Sniper's sudden entrance. "Who? Und how bad?"

"I'm not sure, but I think he's RED."

The Medic stiffened. "You do realize vat you are asking me to do, _ja_?" he asked somberly.

"I know, but he's screamin' like a bloody lunatic an' he won't stop!" the Australian responded, exasperated.

The doctor groaned as he rubbed his temple.

"Zee Soldier will not be happy about zis..."

* * *

Most of the BLUs had been resting in the common area, each doing their own activity when the commotion started: the Soldier occupied an entire table, reviewing obsolete maps of Poland and Germany, occasionally doodling some arrows moving into the countries muttering about the best method of taking them over; the Engineer sat on one of the few couches tuning his acoustic guitar, while the Heavy, Spy and Pyro played a game of cards.

The Engineer was the first to hear the noise, setting his guitar down and got up. The Pyro and Spy took notice as well, the former voicing everyone's curiousity. "What is happening outside?"

Only then did the Soldier jump out of his seat, grabbing his shotgun, flipping over the table and ducking behind it as cover. "**I knew it!** Those damn REDs are attacking!" he barked, "battle stations! Women and children first!"

"Sounds like our Demoman out there," the Engineer said, ignoring the Soldier, "but I thought I saw him goin' to his room. What in tarnations is he goin' on about out there?"

"Is Demoman screaming?" the Russian asked in a small voice, concern evident on his face.

"Who's screamin' like a bloody banshee?" a voice asked from the doorway; it was the Demoman.

"But if yer here, then is that...?"

No-one spoke as the screaming outside continued. Only the Pyro responded: "Whrrm thrr hllmph hmph gmminmpph onph oumph thmmph?"


	6. Unaware of the Truth

"What is that maggot doing there?"

"Why did you take baby man in?"

"Have ye lost yer bloody mind?"

"What were ya thinkin' with that RED feller?"

The BLU Scout was being bombarded by his team's questions, and stammered in his attempts to explain himself.

"Look fellas," the Bostonian said, showing his hands to stop the stream of questions as he explained, "the damn guy was... just... messed up beyond belief."

That calmed down some of the questions, but it brought up another but valid question:

"What was wrong with that RED then?" the Engineer asked.

"Ahh man," the Scout moaned, shaking his head, "it was dark, but man, I could see the Demoman was limpin' an' stuff. He wasn't makin' sense, an' then he began screamin'..."

Behind the crowd of BLUs around the Scout a scream arose from the infirmary. The RED Demoman was still being vocal about his ill state.

"Trust me," the Scout told his teammates, "he's screwed up big time."

The Soldier scoffed, beating on his chest, and spoke up: "_If the enemy is down you beat him down until he cannot get back up._ Sun Tzu said that!"

The young man rolled his eyes at the Soldier. "Pfff. Yeah right. What would'ya have done if youse were there, beat him wid yer shovel an' then rip his head off? Come on, even you would'a helped him out."

The military man seemed insulted at such a prospect. "You are weak! That's what you are. You're a _mama's_ boy!"

The Scout was taken aback, as if he had just been stabbed. "Dun'cha dare talk about mah ma!"

Before a brawl between the two could start, the Russian Heavy stepped in - literally.

"We are team!" he boomed, "we must not fight each other, but RED babies!"

Both the Soldier and the Scout let out an audible '_hmph_', crossing their arms and turning their backs to each other, having nothing else to say.

"I'm just dumb-struck as tah how much that feller can scream," the Engineer began, "must've been - what, ten minutes? - of screamin'. What could'a scare 'im so darn much?"

Everyone was quiet, pondering upon the valid question. "Maybe he saw tha RED Spy sleepin' with Scot's mother," the Demoman said jokingly. Everyone in the room bar the Scout laughed their hearts out.

"Will ya quit it wid mah ma'?" the Bostonian let out in a flustered tone, blushing slightly. "It ain't frickin' funny!"

The laughter up until when the Medic emerged from the infirmary with a blank expression. Everyone was tensed to hear the doctor's news with the same question in their mind: what happened to the RED Demoman.

Instead of satisfying their curiousity, the German pointed to the BLU Demoman. "I need some of your alcohol supply, _herr_ Demo."

The Demoman was shocked at the Medic's request; no-one but he had access to the Scrumpy crates, and only he was allowed to have any. "_**Whot? **_Are ye _mad_?"

The Medic kept his composure when he replied: "He will not let me touch him or spouting nonsense. If zee RED Demoman is anyzhing like you, then he is sober at the moment und he needs to be drunk to stop zee screaming und blabbering."

"Of course he isn't like me!" the Scotsman affirmed, "that wee bastard can't even set his stickies roight, oi bet he don't drink as heavily as me."

"No offense mate," the Sniper retorted, "but ya don't make much sense when ya get sober either."

"Oi am perfectly capable bein' sober an' clear-cut."

"Last time you were sober, ya were screamin' bloody murder an' yappin' 'bout Truckie buildin' a time-travel machine an' seein' gun-totin' dinosaurs,"* the Aussie stated in a 'as-a-matter-of-fact' tone.

The Demoman sputtered in anger. "Yer not toochin' mah Scrumpy, least o' all that RED idiot!"

* * *

The Heavy opened a crate of the Demoman's prized moonshine and handed out two bottles to the Medic.

"You didn't haff to hit him so hard," the Medic told the Russian Heavy, "but _danke_ for your help."

Cracking his knuckles in satisfaction, the Russian chuckled, "was not beeg problem. Leetle one-eye man can be annoying also."

The Scot in question lied on the floor, face-down, bleeding slightly from the nose. "Oh that smarts..." he mumbled.

* * *

For a second time the Medic returned from the infirmary, this time with a mildly surprised look on his face.

"Well doc?" the Sniper asked.

"He hasn't drunk alcohol in a long while," the Medic said, sounding surprised as much as the rest were, "at first he vas throwing up, but now he's asleep. Which has let me check his injuries."

"Which are?" the Engineer chimed in.

"Vell, his foot (the one which vas limping) vas completely skinned," the Medic explained, much to the disgusted shock of his teammates, "und zee bandage covering his right eye? _Ja_, his eye is not there anymore."

The room fell quiet. "What do you mean doktor?" the Heavy asked with a confused expression.

"Gone, gouged out, eye lids und everyzing," the German replied, making gestures for emphasis, "just _ein_ hole left."

"Gouged out?" the Scout asked in a scared tone.

_"Ja_, vith some metal object, probably _ein_ knife or spoon._"_

The team had a series of varied but similar reactions: the Engineer and Scout shuddered; the Sniper and Soldier lay their heads low, looking somberly; the Spy twitched; the Heavy brought his hand up to cover his mouth; the Demoman covered his only eye as if to protect it, and the Pyro sniffed, clutching himself.

"_Bloody hell..._"

"Who did that tah 'im?" the Engineer asked around. Everyone denied having anything to do with the RED Demoman's crippled state. "Look, it had tah be someone from BLU, friendly fire keeps teammembers fro-" he stopped himself. After a moment, with the rest of the team looking on with curiousity, he muttered, "it's ceasefire...friendly fire is off..."

"You mean, another RED did dat to him?" the Scout asked in a terrified voice.

"So one of the RED's finally lost it," the Soldier mumbled to himself, "I knew they weren't war material, but Jesus, I didn't expect one of them to become an actual Section Eight."

While everyone looked to each other, the Medic shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the nerve to tell the truth. "Er..."

His colleagues turned to the Medic.

"Zat...isn't necessarily true..."

* * *

*_Samuel Brook's _Team Fortress 2: the Trouble with Time Travel_, it's a very good read and I reccomend it._


End file.
